Silence
by Follow No Path
Summary: When a strange creature follows Aryll home from the depths of the woods, her family is thrown into turmoil.


**This was going to be a chapter story, but upon reconsidering this first chapter, I'm thinking it shouldn't be. My plan for where I was going to take this seems thematically redundant to me now and what I have works better as a short story. For all who enjoyed my second chapter, I'm sorry for the deletion. My story got a haircut and now it looks much neater.**

Aryll was winding a piece of grass around her thumb when sensed a unique buzz in the air. At first, she thought it was that of any ordinary fly; but when she listened closer it was evident that it was more like a chorus of tiny bells. Curious, she followed it, leaping over fallen branches and small shrubs to a clearing, where the summer sun scorched the earth dry, filling the place with tan, barren soil where there ordinarily would have been grass.

The buzzing ceased for a brief moment. She looked around her for any sign as to where it had gone. And before long, there was a crisp, resonant tone that filled the air, quiet but clear. She followed this. It was beginning to form a melody based on a strange scale that had rarely before reached human ears, a melody that intrigued her to come closer; it was like a siren's song, but without malicious intent. It beckoned those who heard it to come closer, not for any explicit purpose, but rather for the sake of beauty itself.

Soon, the melody came from directly below her. She looked down to find a small shimmer in the sand, which she tenderly scooped up, draining the sand from between her fingers. The tiny being had stopped singing and was looking quite bewildered. It was tiny, and blue, with delicate dragonfly's wings and a face-which would only have been discernable to such keen eyes as Aryll's-so exquisite in its features it could only be described by one word, which she uttered, awestruck, under her breath:

"Perfect."

She closed her hands over it and went back into the shade of the trees, where she found a small cluster of mushrooms that seemed to her the perfect place for her new friend to sit. Gently, she opened her palms and held them out toward the mushroom, and the little fairy climbed on, taking a few quick looks around it before shaking its wings and darting away, frightened. Aryll knew no reason the fairy should be frightened of her, so she pursued it, weaving around trees to keep it in sight. She briefly lost it, but upon a few turns of her head, she discovered that it had landed upon a knob on a high branch of a tree. "It's okay, little fairy; don't be scared," she said tenderly as she began to climb. She reached above her head and strained to make contact with the lowest branch. Finding this hopeless, she jumped, and this time she was successful, but her success left her legs dangling, searching for a foothold on the relatively unwelcoming trunk of the tree.

Grunting, she mustered the strength to bypass the trunk of the tree entirely and cling like a sloth to the lowest branch, gradually pulling herself up on top of it. Thus began her slow process of climbing from branch to branch in pursuit of the fairy. The object of interest watched curiously, perceiving itself to be out of harm's way. And, in so thinking, it once again began its song, in response to which Aryll jerked her head up to where it was seated. Unfortunately, she wasn't paying attention to the position of her feet, and, standing on a rather thin branch, managed to slip and tumble to the ground, where she hit her head on a root and fell unconscious.

The fairy was no dumb or unsympathetic creature; it showed immediate concern. It skipped lightly from branch to branch and landed on the forehead of the unconscious girl. It then dissolved into a silvery liquid and seeped through the small skull of the child, passing her brain harmlessly to the back of the head where the injury had occurred. And soon, there was no sign that she had fallen at all. Rematerializing, the fairy darted back to its seat on the tree's highest branch and looked on to make sure Aryll was safe from harm until she awoke. It sat for the greater part of an hour, but it did not grow impatient. And when it heard another human voice, it did not assume it was friendly and abandon its post; rather, it was vigilant and wary until it heard what he was saying, and could see him clearly enough to perceive the genuine concern on his face. "Aryll!" he called. "Aryll, come here!"

The girl's eyes opened and she took in a deep breath. She glanced about her until she saw the familiar mess of blond hair and lanky figure of her brother. "Link!" she gasped, running to him and throwing her arms around him. "I fell out of a tree and I thought I died. If you hadn't been here to wake me up, I might have. Lucky you came so soon."

"Yeah," he agreed. "What've you been doing out here? It's six o'clock."

"Chasing a fairy."

He looked exasperated. "You've been out long. Come, dinner's ready."

"What is it?"

"Pizza," he said.

She jumped up and down in delight, knowing that when dinner was pizza, her parents were in a good mood. She followed Link out of the forest in high spirits, and the fairy followed her. It did not sing, and it stifled the glimmer of its wings, remaining silent, for it knew that if it was seen or heard by an adult, a not-as-pleasant word would be uttered, one that didn't quite agree with Aryll's assessment of "perfect."

"Bug!" cried Mrs. Faron, swatting at the little shiny thing that was climbing the wall. She believed herself to make contact with it, but it left no mark on the wall. Disgusted, she stared at her hand and looked for any sign of death, but found none.

"Did you get it?" asked Mr. Faron darkly.

"I don't think so. It must be somewhere around here. Could you look?"

"Sure," he said. "What does it look like?"

She described it as being large and ugly, its bright color suggesting that it might be poisonous, and with wings as long and veiny and spindly as a dragonfly's. She made flailing gestures with her hands, as if she were describing something bulbous and evil.

Sighing, the father got up from his seat and started perusing every corner of the house. "If anything moves, I smash it," he said violently.

Only Link noticed the nervousness on Aryll's face. "It's alright," he said, taking her hand thoughtfully. "It's not your fairy they're after."

"Hah!" exclaimed Mr. Faron, upon seeing his prey. He raised his boot and brought it down with a thump against the ground. Yet, despite his noisiness, everyone could hear a faint crack below this, a miniature snap of bone. "I got it," he affirmed.

"This is why I keep you around," Mrs. Faron joked.

Meanwhile, Aryll looked aghast. She let go of Link's hand and rushed to where her father's boot had landed, finding nothing but an evanescent silvery liquid, which she bent over so intently she could see her reflection, however distorted, in its sheen. "What's this?" asked Mr. Farrel. "You've never shown interest in such things before. It's not like you to be fascinated with insects. Especially not dead ones." She made no reply. Her father remained silent just long enough to hear her take in a jagged breath and let forth a partially stifled sob. "Ah, I see," he commented. "You feel sorry for it. Well, let me tell you something." He walked to her, took her by the waist, and sat down again, placing her on his knee. "Insects are not like us people. They might eat and sleep and all that, but deep down inside, they don't feel like us, or think like us. And some of them are harmful, so it's best to get rid of them."

"I don't think that's doing any good," Mrs. Faron said softly.

"Yes, it is. Look, she's quieting down," Mr. Faron replied. His daughter was making an effort to dry her tears in his defense, though her lip still quivered. "Now, eat the rest of your dinner." She shook her head. "Oh, be reasonable. It's pizza. Your favorite." She wrenched herself out of her father's grasp and ran to her room. "Temperamental child," the man cursed.

"She's just being nine," her mother said. "She doesn't understand some things."

"That doesn't make it any less upsetting when you're just trying to be a good father and she acts like . . . acts like . . ."

Mrs. Faron put a silencing finger on his lips. Then she kissed him. "You're a good man," she said. "And Aryll's a good daughter." Link, growing slightly uncomfortable, began to excuse himself. "No, young man. You're staying here." He made no show of upset at this and stayed as his mother and father exchanged little words and caresses of which he knew he had no part.

"May I go?" he asked timidly.

His mother fixed him with a look of strict disapproval, but she silently nodded and he was allowed to leave. Gratefully, he got up and examined the silver puddle on the floor. It gave off a vague luminescence which almost appeared to be a reflection of the lights of the house, and it shimmered in pure, liquid smoothness like mercury. Surely no bug could produce such a substance. Slightly fascinated and slightly troubled, he acquired multiple paper towels-enough so that, even though he wiped with the full palm of his hand, he could feel no moisture through their thickness-and discarded the liquid. "Thanks, Link," his mother said. He nodded and was off to join Aryll in their room.

She had laid back on the bed and was quietly sobbing. "Aryll," he said, feigning no lightheartedness. She looked at him with sad, wise, child's eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry about your fairy. If there was anything I could have done to stop him, I would have done it."

"No, you wouldn't."

"I swear, I would."

"You told me he wasn't after my fairy. You lied to me. He was, and he killed it."

"Well, I'm sure he didn't know it was your fairy. He thought it was just a bug."

"I don't care." Her tears began to stream anew, and Link was lost.

"I believe it was a fairy," he said, quietly.

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

He went and laid in his own bed, knowing there was no way to reassure her.

The next day, she was still upset. Early in the morning, she went out into the woods to celebrate the dawn and mourn the loss of her friend. She found, within a dilapidated construct of cardboard, a little chisel and hammer, as well as some string. She later picked up a fallen piece of wood, still sturdy of itself but looking as if it had fallen from a rotting tree, and carved this inscription into its surface: "RIP Fairy." And she hung it on the branch on which she had seen the fairy perch the previous day, using the piece of string she had found and holes in the wooden plane made with the chisel.

She stayed in the woods for the remainder of the day, occupied by her own imagination. She pictured more fairies, who stayed and talked with her about the death of the first. But she was no longer of an age that would allow her to wrap this reverie in the folds of reality, and she knew there was an important distinction between the fairy she saw with her eyes and those she saw with her mind. She wished she could see another and experience yesterday's delight again. This time, however, she would warn it not to follow her, nor to come near any adult humans, for they would see it as naught but a nuisance.


End file.
